Back to Brooklyn

by Lawrence Kelter

  “Did you go to the window to get a better look?”

  “Objection,” Vinny shouted, rising from his chair. “Your Honor, Morty is leading the witnesses.”

  “Morty?” the judge asked. “Getting a tad informal, aren’t we, Counselor?”

  “Not really, Judge. He told me to call him Morty not fifteen minutes ago.”

  The judge turned to Gold who shrugged before confirming with a nod.

  “Mr. Gambini, in the future, you will address the DA as Mr. Gold, or the DA, or the District Attorney. You can call him Morty after we recess,” the judge said with a grin. “He is right with his objection though. Sustained, Mr. Gold.”

  “I’ll rephrase,” Gold said. “Ms. Träsch, what did you do next?”

  “Why I went to the window, of course.”

  “Can you please tell us what you saw?”

  She pointed at Theresa. “I saw that woman standing alone on the roof and she had blood on her shirt.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Ja. Down below, a bloody man on the street and a car racing away.”

  “By any chance did you happen to see the license plate number of that car?”

  She shook her head. “Nein.”

  “Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor,” Gold said wrapping up.

  The judge grinned at Vinny with the same pretentious grin he’d used before. “Cross, Mr. Gambini?”

  “You bet your ass,” Vinny mumbled.

  “What?”

  “Uh, yes, Your Honor,” Vinny said quickly. “Thank you.”

  The judge turned from him, scowling.

  “Ms. Trash,” he began as he approached the witness stand. “Hello, dear. How are you today?”

  “It’s Träsch (Tresch), not Trash,” she said. “Can’t you hear the difference?”

  “Um…no. Not really. I thought that was just your accent.”

  “What accent?”

  “The one you speak with.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “With all due respect—you don’t think you got an accent?”

  “Very slight,” she conceded. “Most people tell me they hardly hear it at all.”

  “I find that amazing. Most people? Is that most deaf people? Because from over here it’s pretty clear that English ain’t your first language. Just for the record, you are German, right?”

  “My God, you must be omniscient,” she replied sarcastically. “You know what that means?”

  “Yeah. I know what that means. It means I know stuff. Like right now I know that you’re being a wiseass.”

  “Language, Mr. Gambini,” the judge warned.

  “Sorry, Your Honor.” He thought for a moment before continuing. “So I guess you speak German most of the time.”

  “Nein. I speak English practically all the time”

  “Except just then.”

  She grinned at Vinny antagonistically.

  “So, Ms. Träsch, you said that you went out for dinner, then drinks. Is that right?”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  He mocked her, parroting her response with a German accent, “Yes I know ‘that’s what’ you said.”

  She turned to the judge waiting for him to reprimand Vinny, but he ignored her and looked away.

  “What kind of food did you go out for?”

  “Mr. Gambini,” the judge interrupted. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Just laying some groundwork, Judge…”

  “You’d better get to your point, and fast.”

  “I will, Your Honor. So, what kind of food did you get…German?”

  “You think I get a figure like this from eating deep-fried schnitzel?”

  “I don’t know…you look like the kind of woman who enjoys a good schnitzel.”

  “Last warning, Mr. Gambini!”

  “Sorry, Your Honor.”

  “I’m a vegetarian,” she said.

  “Vegetables are kind of bland. They usually add lots of salt and seasonings to make them tasty, don’t they?”

  “Ja. I suppose.”

  “Did you get thirsty?”

  “Yes. Okay? I got thirsty.”

  “So how did you hydrate, dear?”

  “What does it mean, hydrate?”

  “It means, what did you drink?”

  “Oh. Riesling.”

  “That’s wine, right?”

  “Ja.”

  “So you had wine, then you went to your friend’s house for drinks. I’m assuming that when you said ‘drinks’ you didn’t mean Kool-Aid. Is that right?”

  She shrugged.

  “Alcohol. Did you drink alcohol?”

  “Ja.”

  “The average street width in that section of Brooklyn is approximately seventy-five feet, not counting setbacks for sidewalks on both sides of the street. Let’s call it a hundred feet. Yet after drinking wine at dinner and more alcoholic beverages with your ‘friend’ until four a.m., you were able to positively identify my client in the pitch black of night?”

  Träsch seemed taken aback, at a loss for words.

  Lisa lowered head, covered her mouth, and shouted, “She’s full of it!”

  The judge searched the public section but was unable to find the culprit.

  Vinny quickly closed. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  Chapter Forty: Sizing Up the Opposition

  “That was great, Vinny—really great. I liked the way you handled that phony fräulein on the witness stand.” Lisa locked arms with him as they walked side by side from the courthouse.

  The DA was a step behind them, struggling to catch up.

  “Morty?” Vinny said as they came to a stop. “This is my fiancée and legal assistant, Ms. Vito.”

  “She is? Generally, I think it’s a bad idea to mix business with pleasure. But in Ms. Vito’s case…I can see the need for a precedent.”

  Lisa blushed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. District Attorney.”

  He checked the time. “Ninety-minute recess—you out to lunch?”

  Vinny thought for a moment. “Literally or figuratively?”

  He laughed. “Literally. Of course. Why don’t you let me take the two of you to lunch since we’re on opposite sides of the aisle and I don’t know you from Adam.”

  “Yeah. Okay. You good with that, Lisa?”

  “Actually, I’m gonna bow out. I think it’s better if the two of you go to lunch by yourselves. You know, just the boys.”

  “I wouldn’t hear of it,” Gold said. “Please.”

  “I think you should come,” Vinny whispered aside to her. “You don’t want to insult the guy, do you?”

  “I’m not being impolite. I broke a nail,” she said at full volume. “There’s a nail shop next door to the parking lot. I think I’ll get some French tips.” She smiled politely. “You’ll give me a rain check, won’t you, Mr. DA?”

  “Of course, Ms. Vito. I’m sorry you won’t be joining us.”

  “Next time.” She grabbed Vinny and yanked him aside. “Excuse us for a minute,” she said and whispered in Vinny’s ear. “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Lisa? He ain’t Greek.”

  “I know he ain’t Greek. The Trojan Horse, Vinny. He’s gonna try to work you,” she said. “Don’t let this guy get into your head.”

  He winked at her and whispered, “Got it…see you after lunch,” he boomed so loudly that his remark sounded like an obvious cover up. He watched her move off.

  “Your fiancée is lovely,” Gold said. “A real beauty.”

  “Thanks. She is kind of all right. Where do you wanna go for lunch?”

  “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Anything but German.”

  “Do you like pastrami?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I know a place where they make a pastrami sandwich thick enough to choke a horse and I could use a hearty meal. I have t
o begin a fast, starting tonight.”

  “How come? Jewish holiday?”

  “No. Scheduled colonoscopy.”

  ***

  The restaurant décor was nothing special and the waitress looked like a barfly who’d seen far better days. But the sandwiches were every bit as enormous as Gold had promised, and the meat was melt-in-your-mouth tender.

  Vinny noticed the odd-looking meal a man was eating at the next table. He was layering a pita with a lumpy tan spread. “What the hell is that guy eating?”

  Gold glanced over, made eye contact, and waved. “That’s Elon. He’s one of the best personal injury attorneys in the area. Looks like he’s layering a pita with hummus and topping it with sliced olives.”

  “Strange concoction, ain’t it?”

  He laughed. “Not for an Israeli. For him it’s the equivalent of you or I making s’mores. Anyway, I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach,” Gold said.

  “I think the sandwich was bigger than your stomach. I’m gonna take the other half to go.” He pushed his plate toward the center of the table and leaned back in his chair.

  “So, Gambini, you said you just won a murder trial? Can you share some of the details with me?”

  “I guess you want to voir dire me to see what kind of experience I got.” He folded his arms and waited for Gold’s reply.

  “Just talking shop, Gambini.”

  Right. Sure you are. “That’s okay.” Vinny regaled him with the details of the Alabama case, careful not to mention his three contempt charges or that it was his first-ever courtroom victory. “The trial ended about two weeks ago.”

  “You did one hell of a job for those boys. It’s wonderful when you’re rewarded like that, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. I did that case pro bono being it was my cousin Billy who was on trial for his life.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I mean the sense of fulfillment you received for a job well done—seeing those two wrongly accused boys set free.”

  “Oh yeah. Of course.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know how you figured it out. You must have some incredible problem-solving skills. I can’t imagine what your IQ score must be.”

  Vinny shrugged.

  “Being modest again?”

  “Not really.”

  “It must be off the charts.”

  He placed his hand behind the chair and crossed his fingers. “You could say that.”

  “Well then I guess lightning struck or something.”

  “Not that I remember. I mean there were a couple of heavy downpours during the trial but it was winter, so…no electrical storms.”

  Gold smirked. “No. I mean you must’ve had a grand revelation—that moment when you see something clear as day for the very first time. You know what I mean…seeing it in a way you never saw it before.”

  “Yeah, it was a real eye-opener.”

  “I still think you’re being modest. Either that or you’re being cagey.”

  Vinny’s shoulders swayed back and forth while he decided where to take the conversation. “I got back about two weeks ago, like I said, and been busy as hell ever since.”

  “And yet Mr. Doucette said you opposed him in a case as an assigned lawyer. I’m impressed. Where do you find the time to help the indigent? I mean, it’s hardly lucrative work.”

  Vinny sensed that Gold was prying. “Oh. The bad check thing?” He waved his hand dismissively. “I did that case as a favor for someone.”

  “But Doucette said he’s never opposed you in court before, nor had he ever met you before last week.”

  “Yeah. Well, Brooklyn was a change of venue for me,” he said, thinking on his feet. “I used to practice in the Bronx, but I got this classic red Cadillac convertible you see, a gorgeous 1960, Model 62—I mean it’s really something to see. It was a gift to me from my dear friend Judge Molloy. Maybe you heard of him.”

  “Judge Henry Molloy?” he asked both impressed and circumspect at the same time. “Who hasn’t heard of the great Henry Molloy? He’s a legend in Kings County.”

  “Yeah. That’s him. Anyway, it—I mean the Caddy—kept gettin’ vandalized, so I decided it would be better to shift my practice here to Brooklyn where there’s a secure parking lot near the courthouse. It’s also much closer to home so my commute is shorter. I figured that was good for the environment.”

  “You couldn’t have just started taking the subway? You decided instead to move your entire practice?” He leaned forward. “You’re an interesting man, Vincent Gambini. A very interesting man.” He placed his coffee cup on the saucer. “Do you have any questions for me?”

  Vinny had been taught in law school that a strong offense was often the best defense and felt this was his opportunity. “Yeah. We got us one hell of a high-profile case, being it was the deputy mayor’s brother who got killed. Does that put any undue pressure on you or the judge?”

  The question seemed to weigh heavily on Gold’s mind. “As long as we’re being blunt, yes, absolutely it does. Judge Whorhatz and I are both up for reelection at the end of the year and the support of the mayor’s office is critical to both of us. Does that mean either of us would do anything inappropriate?” He challenged Vinny with an accusatory gaze. “I think you know better than that, Mr. Gambini.”

  “No offense, Morty. It’s just that Whorhatz went from the arraignment to hearing preliminary arguments in the blink of an eye. I barely had time to prepare.”

  “You think that was fast? Wait until you see how fast this goes to trial. Is Whorhatz showing favoritism to the deputy mayor? Yes. But pushing a trial to the front of the line doesn’t constitute misconduct—not as long as the accused isn’t being denied due process. And frankly, Gambini, I doubt Judge Whorhatz gives a damn.”

  Chapter Forty-One: The Man of Steel

  Judge Whorhatz came back from lunch in a foul mood, snapping at the prosecutor and the defense attorney, glaring at them defiantly from up high atop his bench. “Come on, Mr. Gold. Let’s go. Let’s go. We don’t have all day.”

  Gold glanced at Whorhatz, surprised by the hostility. “The people would like to call Dr. Clark Kent, director of the Charles S. Hirsch Center for Forensic Sciences.”

  Vinny blurted, “Clark Kent? For real? Has he leaped any tall buildings lately?”

  “Act like an adult,” Whorhatz groused.

  “Sorry, Your Honor. Guess I just had to get it out of my system.”

  Gold waited until the doctor was sworn in. “Dr. Kent, we understand that the forensics team found a set of shoe prints on the rooftop of eighteen-fifty-nine Cropsey Avenue, the location from which the victim was allegedly pushed. Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you please expand upon that for us?”

  “Surely.” He pointed to a diagram of a grooved shoeprint. The toe portion of the shoe was highlighted in red. “The red portion of the shoeprint indicates the area we found on the rooftop, where someone stepped in blood. It allowed us to reconstruct the balance of the sole pattern. We have thousands of branded shoe profiles in our database. This particular tread pattern is specific to a ladies’ Nike brand Air Max 95, size 7, standard width.”

  “And what size shoe does the defendant wear?”

  “Why size seven.”

  “Excellent. No further questions.”

  Whorhatz turned to Vinny. “Care to cross examine the witness, Mr. Gambini?”

  Vinny was distracted, taking notes. “Eh. No thanks,” he said without looking up. He realized after a long moment that the courtroom was silent. He glanced at the bench and saw that Whorhatz was looking at him as if he were going to explode, his chest heaving, his face purple. “Uh…you okay, Judge?”

  “Do I look okay, Mr. Gambini?”

  “No,” he replied. “You look like you’re about to have a stroke or something. You should take a couple of deep breaths.”

  Whorhatz continued to glare.

  “Try it, Judge. In and out. In and out—it’ll do
wonders for your blood pressure. ”

  “Are you screwing with me, Mr. Gambini?”

  “No, Judge. I ain’t screwing with you. You look like you’re about to explode. I’m trying to prevent you from having some kind of a catastrophic event.”

  “Please read back Mr. Gambini’s response to the court.”

  The court reporter read, “‘Eh. No thanks.’”

  “How does that sound to you, Mr. Gambini?”

  “It sounds like I don’t want to cross examine the witness, Judge.”

  “In my chambers,” Whorhatz hollered. He slammed the gavel. “Fifteen minutes recess.”

  Vinny turned to Lisa, his hands open as if to catch an oversized beach ball as he shrugged, then mouthed, “What did I do?”

  She shook her head disbelievingly.

  ***

  Whorhatz yanked off his robe the moment he entered his office, walked over to a photograph on the wall, and pointed. “What do you see here, Mr. Gambini?”

  Vinny took a close look. “I see a bunch of soldiers belly down in the mud.”

  “Wrong!”

  “Wrong?”

  “Wrong. What you see is unwavering courage. This is fortitude. This is bravery. This is everything you’re not when you address the court with your head down, speaking like a vagrant.”

  “Your Honor,” he said, desperate to have the judge understand. “I didn’t mean no disrespect. It’s just the way I talk.”

  “Mr. Gambini, you’re an attorney. You passed the bar. Are you trying to tell me you haven’t mastered the rudiments of the English language?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor. I’ll try to be more awares of the way I speak.”

  “Awares? All right,” he said as a prelude to action. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you, Judge.” Vinny did as instructed.

  “Judge Molloy and I had a chat right after the arraignment and he told me that you were his protégé of sorts. He told me that you were more resourceful than any litigator he’d ever met. He also said that you were a damn clever lawyer.”

  Vinny sensed there was more to come.

  “None of that matters to me. I’m a decorated marine. I served in Viet Nam, carried wounded soldiers out of the swamp, and stood up straight and tall for roll call. Personally, I think everyone should spend some time in the military, but in your case…”